


A Simple Matter of the Future

by vina_writes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Post-Hogwarts, So Married, even if they aren't yet, haha what can you expect, proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24012517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vina_writes/pseuds/vina_writes
Summary: Draco should have seen it coming, really.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 17
Kudos: 392





	A Simple Matter of the Future

The wizarding world at large thinks it will happen somewhere dignified, like a Ministry ball or perhaps the Atrium. People expect it to be public— even Ron and Hermione have mentioned crowded venues with pointed looks. Everyone argues that one of them will make a scene, get the cameras flashing if only to show one another off a bit. Mrs. Weasley seems particularly set on something grand. She missed out with Bill, Percy, Ron and Ginny, so she’s set on Harry. After all these years she still hasn’t realized that she doesn’t know him quite as well as she thinks she does.

Draco doesn’t have any opinion on the matter, but that’s mostly because he’s never been able to believe it would actually happen. When they started seeing one another he never thought they would last— Harry would get bored, Harry would get to know him and realize he didn’t like what he saw, Harry would grow frustrated, Harry wouldn’t be able to deal with his idiosyncrasies, Harry, Harry Harry. There were so many insecurities, so many predictions. Draco remembers lying awake at night agonizing over them for weeks before he came to the final conclusion that it was all too much. Not Harry— never Harry— but the pointless worrying over where they were going, where they’d end up, how they figured into one another’s future— that was completely unnecessary and overall a pile of rubbish. There were too many possibilities. The only thing Draco could do was let them all go, the bad _and_ the good. 

So Draco stopped imagining, and started to focus on the moments that are rather than the moments that will be. He lets himself marvel at Harry’s sleepy eyes in the morning, their dates in the park, their movies and dinners, Harry’s kisses and Harry’s voice, Harry’s laughter, Harry’s hand in his. He stresses his way through every fight, and works for the right words to apologize the same way Harry does: with dedication and a bit of sheepishness. For all Draco knows Harry does still fret over their future, but Harry’s allowed to do that just as Draco’s allowed not to, so he doesn’t ask. They share almost everything— and Draco loves that the most, the fact that Harry’s not only his lover but his closest friend— but this isn’t big enough to be shared. It’s just the way Draco is. It’s beautiful, really, because living this way has given him the space to just be with Harry, without worry or fear. He’s there in every moment, committing it all to memory, and he knows it’s when he stopped thinking about the ‘what if’s and the ‘when’s that he truly became happy. Happy in both their relationship and in life. Letting go this way is beautiful because it’s what let them fall in love.

And they are, they’re so dazzlingly in love. So in love that Harry picks Draco’s dirty socks out of the laundry so they stay white and Draco lets him pee with the door open when their favorite shows are on (Ron may never understand the value of small things, but Draco does). 

Of course, those should have been his first clues. If Draco had thought a bit more about the future, he might have seen this coming. He might have built his own expectations, his own hopes and anxieties. He might have listened to everyone. He might have even planned something similar himself.

As it is, he didn’t and he doesn’t. And that makes it all the more beautiful, too.

They’re in the gardens at the Manor, somewhere back past the lily ponds but before the rose bushes and the fields. He can’t even see the house from this far away, and it makes Draco feel a bit fae, a bit enchanted— the only thing around is flowers. Harry bumps into the low hanging wisteria and they both snort as petals come drifting down around them.

“Clumsy oaf,” Draco says. He doesn't mutter anymore— his insults are a treasure to society. 

“Shut it. Like you’re the epitome of elegance.” Harry pauses to consider that. “Well, you are actually. Bugger.” They grin at one another. A butterfly flutters past and Draco watches as it lands in a patch of lavender, its yellow wings stark against the flowers.

“I haven’t been back here since I was six or seven,” he remarks. “It hasn’t changed at all.”

“It’s magnificent,” Harry says. “You think we’ll ever be able to get our garden at home up to standard?”

Draco pretends to mull that over while he lets the rush of happiness wash through him. It never fails to happen every time he hears Harry call their house ‘home’. “Not a chance, not without Mother there to plan it. We both hate weeding too much.”

“Oh, well, I suppose we’ll have to brave your lunatic of a father and come visit here instead.” Draco laughs. Lucius has been a nightmare, swinging on a weekly basis between trying to hex or poison Harry and trying to befriend him (of all things). Draco isn’t sure which phase is more amusing. Seeing his father force a cigar on Harry while wearing a muggle nightdress under the impression it was a highly fashionable robe is a memory he will forever cherish.

“He was civil today,” Draco reminds Harry. “I can’t believe he let us go so quickly, too. He really looked like he was gearing up for tea.”

“Right, yeah,” Harry’s flushing suddenly, running a hand through his hair. He pats over his shirt and then runs his palms down his thighs, and Draco just gives him a bemused smile. He’s similarly relieved not to be holed up in the parlour with his parents for the entire afternoon.

Harry lets him lead from there, and they wander together deeper into the maze of bushes. He takes Draco’s hand and Draco winds their fingers together mindlessly. Harry’s palm is sweaty, but it’s still nice. The wisteria runs alongside them and overhead, and somewhere he can smell jasmine. There used to be a tree of the sweet flowers around here years ago but Draco has trouble believing it’s survived this long. There’s no hope of finding it even if it is still growing— there’s nothing to see but the path branching off in all directions, each turn disappearing into the shrubbery.

“This is my favorite part of the gardens,” Draco admits. He waits for Harry to make fun of him, to joke or to look surprised, to nod and tell him he agrees, but all he says is—

“I know.”

“What? You do?” Draco frowns at him. He’s never told anyone that.

“You always stare out here when we’re having dinner, and you get this look in your eyes— all wistful and poetic and stuff— and it’s, well...” Harry coughs and looks away. “Anyway, I asked your mum. She told me you liked it here.” Harry seems to have something more to say. He’s rocking a bit and biting his lips, his eyes darting over the flowers. Draco wants to tell him to spit it out, but he doesn’t feel like rushing Harry today. He waits.

Harry finally looks around before turning back to Draco. “I can see why. It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

Draco blushes, dammit. He can’t help it. Harry tells him often enough, but he always says it with weight, like he means it, and Merlin if it doesn’t take Draco’s breath away.

Harry himself takes a breath, as if he’s bracing for something, and then he turns to face Draco fully. He takes Draco’s other hand and holds them both between them, clasped tightly in his own. His hands really are sweating now.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” Draco asks. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, nothing’s wrong!” Harry blurts out. He’s red, and he squeezes Draco’s hands briefly. Draco waits once again.

“Are you sure? You don’t seem— Harry?” Harry’s letting go of his hands now, and Draco watches with wide eyes as he sinks down to one knee. He knows what’s happening, somewhere deep down he understands, but he can’t do anything except stare. “You— what are you doing?”

“Draco,” Harry says. He swallows once more, and then he reaches in his back pocket and pulls out a black box. The band nestled inside is thin silver when he flicks it open, studded with diamonds and sapphires, and Draco knows it’s not what Harry would have chosen but it’s what Harry knows Draco would want.

“Draco,” he repeats, and Draco has to actively stop himself from saying anything. “You’ve been in my life from the moment it became real. You’ve made my life hard, you’ve made my life easy, and now you make my life worth living.” Harry’s voice goes thick suddenly. “You’re beautiful, and high maintenance, and obsessed with the strangest bloody things. You’re unbelievably funny and so very smart. You make me want to be home every day. You make me happy not knowing where the future takes me, so long as it’s somewhere with you. I love you— every day, every night, every moment I’m alive I love you. I love you always.”

“Yes,” Draco chokes out, and he realizes in mortification that his cheeks are wet despite his best efforts.

“I haven’t even asked yet,” Harry tries to laugh, but he’s crying too.

“Hurry up already!”

This time Harry does laugh.

“Draco Malfoy, will you marry me?”

“Yes, of course!” Draco flings himself half on top of him as Harry’s arms come up around him. They’re squeezing each other tight enough that Draco can hardly breathe, but he only pulls Harry closer. Draco kisses his hair, his temple, his wet cheek, and eventually finds his mouth. He presses his lips to Harry’s more desperately than he thinks he’s ever kissed him before. They don’t even taste one another, kissing close mouthed as they kneel together on the pathway, too happy and overwhelmed for anything else. Yet it burns Draco down to his core, leaves him breathless and laughing.

“What on earth are you giggling about?” Harry murmurs onto his lips.

“Harry, we’re getting married,” Draco says. He’s grinning like an idiot. “We’re getting married. You bought me a ring.”

Harry looks blissful for a second before his expression turns panicked and then horrified. “The ring!”

“...yes?”

“I dropped it!” Harry pushes away and starts looking around desperately. The box lies by his knee, but the ring is nowhere to be seen. Draco watches in growing disbelief as Harry peeks under bushes.

“Harry,” he says. “We’re wizards.”

“What’s that got— oh, right!” He pulls out his wand and summons the ring from where it’s been lying innocently in the grass. The moment starts to feel serious once again, enough to be ever so slightly frightening.

Draco holds out his hand and Harry slips the ring on with a look of reverence.

“I’m marrying an idiot,” Draco whispers. He’s never been so happy.


End file.
